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Cheer Up, Postumus
AD POSTUMUM
Horace, Book II, Ode 14.
“Eheu! fugaces, Postume, Postume—”
Horace, Book II, Ode 14.
“Eheu! fugaces, Postume, Postume—”
O Postumus, dear Postumus, Old Father Time’s a sprinter,
The summer of my life is spent, approaches now the winter;
Nor all my Wit nor Piety, to quote Omar Fitzgerald,
Can keep my obit from appearing in the Sabine Herald.
The summer of my life is spent, approaches now the winter;
Nor all my Wit nor Piety, to quote Omar Fitzgerald,
Can keep my obit from appearing in the Sabine Herald.
If for a daily sacrifice you killed three hundred cattle,
Think you that it would keep from you the Dread and Final Rattle?
Nix! Though you build eight colleges and lib’ries eighty-seven,
You can’t avoid what Rhyme demands I designate as Heaven.
Think you that it would keep from you the Dread and Final Rattle?
Nix! Though you build eight colleges and lib’ries eighty-seven,
You can’t avoid what Rhyme demands I designate as Heaven.
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